Kasmandre

Well, I don't think I'll ever look at a radish the same way again. I have to agree with your friend that this is slightly odd, but it's still enjoyable. The run-on sentences aren't too much of a problem (I probably wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't've mentioned it), but they do speed up the pace of the story a little more than I think you want. Otherwise, I like it. It kind of reminds me of the poetry of Shel Silverstein.

No matter what the parameters are, I'd probably spend the night alone with my best friend, Krista, although I don't think I could for the same reasons that I would want to. (You know, I'm not sure that whole sentence made sense)

Well, that's one heck of an interpretation, and probably a little more than I needed to know about Peredhil. Good story, though!

Just starting a thread for comments on my developing story in case someone has anything to say, even if it's just "I've been reading it."

Great story! I'm glad you had a good birthday, and, Psimon, I hope you had a good time too!!

Very cool sigs, falcon! And I doubt I get any points for saying the pictures look vaguely familiar.

Kasmandre wandered aimlessly through the hallways of the Pen, thinking about anything but the arrival of the fortune teller. To say that she was a sore spot for him was an understatement as he was still limping from a rather vigorous pinch he'd recieved from the venerable Madame. Unfortunately, that pain kept bringing his thoughts back around to the Pen's newest guest and her offer of fortune tellings. The last time Kasmandre had had any sort of fortune or prophesey about himself, it had resulted in nothing but pain and suffering and it had almost lost him the woman he loved. And now that that very woman was so far away, and that he hadn't heard from her in so long and was worried sick... These morose musings faded away as Kasmandre became aware of a small crowd in the passageway before him. It seemed that his wanderings had led him right to the location of Madame Quixotic's sign-up sheet. At first, Kasmandre was just going to pass by, but then he noticed exactly how many people had signed up already. If nothing else, I'll have plenty of time to decide whether or not I want to see this fortune teller at all. And if not, I should have enough time to make myself "unavailable" for my appointment. So, he quickly signed his name at the bottom of the list.

I don't know. I wasn't really interested in reading them until I had to listen to a bunch of my classmates talking about them. I decided to read them just so I wouldn't have to endure them saying, "I can't believe you haven't read them yet!" over and over again. But, lo and behold, I really liked them. Sure, they're simple and easy to read (I got the first four done in a week or so), but the story's pretty good. "Just because it's popular" isn't a good reason to read something, but it's not a good reason not to read something either. I suggest that everyone at least give the books a try. Borrow or buy the first one, read it through (it won't take long, it's a short, quick read), and then decide whether or not to move on. If you like it, read the rest. If not, at least you've made a decision based on the books themselves. Just my two cents...

Thanks, Peredhil, I'd forgotten this was even here. I thought the only copy online had been on the AMBB. [EDIT]Correction, the only copy was there. I just thought that the whole thing had gone down. Looks like there's still a server keeping them up. I might as well finish copying this into here...[/EDIT] ooc: Kicking the now-dead body aside, Kasmandre approached the woman, who still sat cowering in a corner of the alley. She was dirty, disheveled,…and not Cassandra. Notwithstanding the complete lack of physical resemblance, Cassandra never cowered, never backed down. Even at the end, she had the strength to defy the Darkened Man. “Go,” Kasmandre rasped, “go home and remember this before you venture outside after dark. There are worse things than vampires.” The woman ran out of the alley as if Satan himself pursued her. Kasmandre turned his eyes to the sky and screamed into the night, “You bastard!! You monstrous, rot-eaten bastard!! It isn’t enough that you took everything from me!! No, you have to send creatures, monsters that remind me of what I was and what I did!! I swear this night, on the blood of my lost love, that I will not rest, I will not stay my hand while even one remnant of you lasts anywhere, in any land!!! You will pay for my pain!!!!” A footfall at the mouth of the alley alerted Kasmandre to the presence of another person in the alley. Wrenching Cassandra’s dagger out of the wall, Kasmandre spun around to face the new arrival. “You can put that away,” Tramaleon said, “After all, I am not the one you’re enraged at. You seem to have finally decided that this war is your own as well. Good, I could not have chosen a more opportune time. Harmon Eldarod has fled into Kimreddeth. We follow him tonight, and, by dawn, we will either be victorious or dead. Come.” With that, Tramaleon left the alley, leaving Kasmandre no choice but to sheath his dagger and follow. Chapter XXI: In the Eye of the Storm Arriving back at the inn, Kasmandre could see that preparations were already beginning to be made for departure from Andra. Ramone was hurring in and out of the common room, filling their packs with their belongings and extra supplies. At another of the tables, Aran, now once again clad in his wood-mail armour, pored over several maps. He looked up at the entrance of Tramaleon and Kasmandre. “If Harmon fled with that much armament, there’s one place he could have been going: the Blighted Mount in the heart of Kimreddeth.” “So I feared,” Tramaleon sighed, sinking into a chair, “The battle must end from whence it began: on the peaks of Kasmandre’s former fortress. The Darkened Man intends to complete his evil plan, with or without Kasmandre to carry it out. So, he has chosen Harmon to open the Dark Gate for him.” “The Dark Gate?” Kasmandre asked, “What’s that, and what does it have to do with me?” “The Dark Gate is a construct of unimaginable importance. It opens the way to the Darkened Man’s Nexus, the source of all his power, a drawing point from within the realms of Aeternal Dark. From the Nexus, the Darkened Man could call endless armies to storm Diventeth, and from there, all existence. The Araenugeth, the war of the gods, would then begin, and Light would almost certainly fail. But the Darkened Man needs a mortal to create it. You were his first choice. But he reverted to a more malleable minion, Harmon Eldarod.” “So, let’s go stop him!” Tramaleon smiled, “Not so fast, my impetuous friend. You’re going to need armour, and the bloodstained leather you wore before would be inappropriate. Here is something more suitable for after your ‘rebirth.’” Tramaleon moved to another table and revealed a suit of armour that appeared to be shimmering white leather. Closer inspection revealed it to be covered with a multitude of small crystalline plates. “Armour made of the Tears of the Light. Cassandra had a suit much like this one. Better armour is not in existence. Now change quickly, we need to hurry.” Kasmandre changed as quickly as possible into his new armour, which he discovered to be very light and maneuverable. Aran and Tramaleon, his robes once again color-shifting waited outside with their horses. Then the three riders than mounted and rode with all speed to Kimreddeth. At the border, they turned southward, heading for the southern border. Kasmandre was puzzled by this. “Why are we going south? The Blighted Mount lies in the east.” “We know,” Aran replied, “But when facing an army, having one of your own doesn’t hurt.” And then they crested a hill and below them, stretching to the darkened horizon, was a host, the likes of which had never been seen. And at its head was Jor’ann and several Archmagi clad in white armour of differing makes. “Now we meet and plan briefly,” Tramaleon said, almost to himself, “Then we ride out of the eye, into the storm.” Chapter XXII: To Lead in War Tramaleon took his horse of a small distance to speak to the Ascendant Archmagi, leaving Kasmandre and Aran to themselves for a time. Kasmandre used this time to mention something he noticed. “All these mages have a symbol on them, you wear it too. It appears to be the Cross of Lucifer; except it is inverted. What does it mean?” Aran smiled tightly, “It isn’t Lucifer’s Cross inverted, but rather that symbol is the inverse of the one we wear. This cross,” he said, touching the cross-clasps that held his cloak to his armour, “is the symbol of Aeternal Light, and the symbol of all who serve him.” “Then why doesn’t my armour have that symbol?” Aran just shrugged, and looked at the gathering of Archmagi, where an argument seemed to have broken out. The shouting had risen to the point where individual voices could be heard: “I have given my life to the Light, I should lead!” “Your power is but a pale shadow of what I possess…” “I brought the largest army…” “I have…” “I am…” “I…” “My…” At that point, a great light flashed over the entire meeting. Tramaleon urged his horse between the arguing mages. His robe a swirl of brown and red, he spoke to those assembled, “You have all been called here for a reason. You are the few Archmagi that remain loyal to the Light. However, as you have just proven, none of you are a suitable leader of this alliance. There is only one present who can lead such a host...” One of the Archmagi, an old man in shining plate mail spoke up, “Of course, who better to lead than the Hand of the Aeternal Light, Guardian of the realms of First Terra, specific, beautiful creation of the Light Himself, the Power of Powers, Tramaleon! Tramaleon! Tramaleon!” At this several others took up the chant, until the valley rang with the repeated name of the one they knew must lead them. They chanted his name loud and long, until they were silenced by the raised hand of Tramaleon. “You speak kindly, good Aramon, and my heart is gladdened by the support of all present. Unfortunately, I cannot lead you, for if we are to be victorious, I must engage my foil, the Dark Power on Diventeth, the one known as the Darkened Man. For, at his interfering, all that we may hope to be achieved may be undone. So, I bring a leader with me: one most suitable for this task. I present to you one who has died and been reborn, both in flesh and in the Light. One who has sworn to not rest until the darkness is no more. You shall be led by the Archmagi Kasmandre.” A hush fell over the Archmagi as Kasmandre led his horse forward. The hush didn’t last long before the complaints of the mages came fast and hard: “You suggest we follow the ‘Wretched One?’” “I’d rather follow Aramon than this Light-forsaken piece of dung!” “I’d sooner kill this abomination than follow him!” This time the bickering was stopped by Kasmandre’s raised hand. Sitting tall in his saddle, he spoke, “I know none of you like me. I have given you no reason to, nor to trust me. All you know of me is evil. You hear of Kasmandre and your thoughts turn to the curse of Armageddon, and the destruction of worlds. You look at me and you see light and life extinguished for the cause of petty gain. And I can hardly blame you. That is what I used to stand for. “But note that I said ‘used to.’ Three thousand years as a prisoner in Hell and listening to the teachings of Tramaleon have given me a new perspective on things. I no longer seek material things or power or glory. I seek one thing only: the complete and eternal eradication of Aeternal Dark and all It’s followers and energies.” Kasmandre paused then and looked out at the Archmagi to gauge their reaction to his speech so far. Some of them appeared to be gaining a grudging respect for him. But some still seemed to be hostile toward him and none seemed ready to follow him. “I know that words are meaningless when they come from a liar, and I sincerely hope that you see me as more than that. But in case you do not, I will give you a sign of my devotion to Aeternal light.” With that, he drew Cassandra’s dagger from its sheath and held it in the waning light of the moon. It glowed softly with its own inner light. Whispers and mutterings could be heard throughout the assembled throng, the loudest from those who recognized the blade and remembered its owner. Ignoring these sounds, Kasmandre touched the blade to his forehead above his right eye. He then pressed the blade inward until it drew blood. And then, drawing the blade downward over his eye and to a level with his jaw, created a vertical slash down his face. He then raised the blade and pressed it into the bridge of his nose, and, in a final horizontal motion, drew the blade once more over his right eye, completing the Sign of the Cross of the Light. Then, blood running down his face, he raised the blade into the air above his head. A blast of white flame burst from the holy weapon, creating a sword’s blade of purest light over the dagger’s blade. And from a stand of trees there was heard a great chirping and flapping of wings. And then, a flight of swallows, so numerous that they could not be counted, flew over the heads of the assembled mages and alighted into the heavens. The Archmagi were stunned into silence. For a space of several minutes, no one moved or spoke. And then, Aramon clumsily dismounted from his horse and knelt before Kasmandre saying, “Before the Light and all the Powers of Heaven, by my hope of Salvation and Rebirth, I, Aramon di Riahonne, Lord of the Algarihi, do swear to follow you, Kasmandre of Logard, where you lead and command by swords where you wilt have them, till Light be prevalent.” And then a slender woman, clad in silver chain mail dismounted and knelt saying, “Before the Light and all the Powers of Heaven, by my hope of Salvation and Rebirth, I, Eleanor al’Graivin, Queen of Adnior, do swear…” And the rest of her words were lost in the storm of Archmagi dismounting, kneeling, and swearing fealty to Kasmandre. “Arise!” Kasmandre shouted, “Let us now ride! ‘Till hope is gone, till Light is extinguished, never to bow to Shadow or Dark, striking the Darkness with last breath!’” And he turned, leading the Ascendant Coalition to the Blighted Mount, either to victory or doom. Chapter XXIII: Battle Begins As the Ascendant Coalition rode to war behind Kasmandre, Tramaleon brought his horse alongside Kasmandre. He reached up and, without saying a word, healed the Cross wound over Kasmandre’s right eye, leaving a livid scar. After riding together a short while longer in silence, Kasmandre spoke up. “What if we arrive at the Blighted Mount and the Gate has already been created?” Tramaleon looked into the distance, “I hope that it won’t be, but, in all honesty, it will be a close thing. If it has already been constructed, I will try to delay the Darkened Man for as long as possible, for he will have to call his minions from within the Nexus. But I will only be able to delay him, for once the Gate is opened, his power will flow into him more freely, and he may prove to be beyond my ability to defeat.” “Then what do you propose to do?” “As I said, I will distract the Darkened Man as long as I am able. Once the gate is opened, it cannot be closed. In such a circumstance, the only option would be to destroy the Nexus utterly.” “Destroy it? How?” “With this,” Tramaleon replied, removing from his robes an old copper goblet “This, Kasmandre, is the Holy Grail. It is an artifact that has long existed, but few have known its true purpose. It was said, long ago, that in the time of greatest need, the Holy Grail would be a weapon of greatest potency. If the Gate is completed, you must get into the Nexus and place this at the epicenter. Hopefully, it will be enough to destroy the Nexus and render the Gate moot. We can only hope. Now, we are almost there. Take the Grail, and after we cross this ridge we shall see if it is necessary.” Kasmandre then realized that they were cresting the last rise of the land before they reached the Blighted Mount. As they reached the top they could see all the way to the summit of that black mountain. At the highest peak, flames and black energy flashed and flickered, reaching greater and greater heights and intensity with every second. On the slopes below, an army that rivaled the Coalition’s in size laid in wait. Tramaleon gritted his teeth, “We were very nearly too late, the Dark Gate is almost ready. I will ride with all speed to the summit and confront my counterpart. Lead your army valiantly and follow with all the speed you can. Jor’ann and Aran will aid you. Now farewell and good luck!” With that, Tramaleon booted his horse forward and disappeared into the Armies of Darkness. Kasmandre turned his horse to face the Army of Light, ‘his army’ Tramaleon had said. He raised his flaming sword of Light and yelled with every fiber of his being, “For the Light, for Cassandra Brightlance!!” And he wheeled his horse around and, with Jor’ann and Aran at his sides and the armies of all the Ascendant nations at his back, charged in after Tramaleon. Chapter XXIV: In the Midst of Death The next however long was lost to Kasmandre in the endless stream of foes. Between Jor’ann, Aran, and himself, they had slain dozens, if not hundreds of skeletons, wights, vampires, ghouls, and other evil creatures, and yet they still came. Kasmandre had decided that in a battle like this one, a general didn’t so much lead as he did desperately try to stay alive. So far, so good. They’d stayed alive long enough to make it to one of the cliff faces that barred their way to the top. It was a wall of stone stretching thirty feet up, and the nearest passable point was a hundred yards around it, through some of the fiercest fighting. Kasmandre dismounted his horse and sent it back through the seething mass of teeth and claws. Jor’ann and Aran did likewise. “If it weren’t for the battling,” Kasmandre shouted over the roar of the battle, “I’d suggest going around, but right now climbing seems like a better idea. Either of you happen to have any gear?” “Yeah, right beside the kitchen sink,” Jor’ann retorted, slaying a Fallen Angel, “We work with what we carry, any better ideas?” “Well our choices seem to be up a rock face or through heavy fighting. Which do you prefer?” “The rock face would be easier. If only we had an earth mage with us… now where could we find one of those?” Aran looked up from his sparring with a Cave Troll, “I’d help, but I’m busy at the moment.” “We’ll cover you,” Kasmandre replied, blasting the troll with a surge of white fire, “Just do something!” Aran turned to the wall, drove his spear into the ground, and began to chant in a low, melodic voice. Slowly, the wall began to tremble. “Hey, Aran, we just want a way up, not the mountain on our heads,” Jor’ann spat, skewering a Lich on one of his blades. Aran ignored him, concentrating on his chant. As the wall trembled, stones began to press themselves out of the surface, creating a climbing wall of sorts. Aran grabbed his spear and turned, “It’s done. Jor’ann, you go first, then Kasmandre, then me.” “How come I go first?” Jor’ann shouted, not looking up from the two imps in front of him. “Because, if there’s something nasty at the top, it’ll kill you first, and then I don’t have to listen to you anymore. Now go!” Kasmandre sliced the head off Orc and shoved Jor’ann toward the wall, “Shut up and get going, we have to get to that Gate before it’s finished.” Jor’ann, having been suitably chastised, turned, sheathed his swords, and began to scale the wall. Kasmandre followed, and Aran came soon after, skewering a few foul creatures with spikes conjured out of the ground. Together, the three began climbing the wall. Their ascent was halted, though, by a stream of arrows, sent by Orcish Archers on a hidden peak. “Argh, they’ll spit us in a minute,” growled Jor’ann, tearing an arrow out of his shoulder. “Then don’t give them that minute,” Kasmandre replied, quickly wrapping their conventional armour in Armour of Light. The arrows bounced harmlessly off the Light Armour, but it was a strain for Kasmandre to maintain while climbing. Jor’ann hastened to the top, and after reaching it, paused for a moment. “Aran,” he said, “when you said that thing about hoping something nasty was up here, you didn’t happen to be peeking, did you?” Kasmandre and Aran reached the top of the cliff face just in time to watch ten Knights Templar finish dying at the feet of a Daemon. Chapter XXV: Foes Old and New Kasmandre reacted instinctively to the sight of the Daemon, attempting to blast it with a surge of white fire. But the Daemon, with its hell-born reflexes, leaps into the air, dodging the blast, and landing right between Kasmandre and Jor’ann. With a swing of its mighty arm, it knocks Jor’ann off the cliff. Only a lightning draw of his sword saves Jor’ann as he buries his blade in the rock wall, saving him from falling into the battle below. Meanwhile, the Daemon was slashing at Kasmandre and Aran with its razor-sharp claws. Aran swung his blade at the monster’s arm, hoping to separate it from its body. The blade just clanged off the Daemon’s hide, leaving only a shallow dent in its arm. The Daemon retaliated by grabbing Aran’s spear in both its claws and wrenching it from his grip. It then heaved the weapon to the ground and seized Aran by the shoulders. “Never touch my spear,” Aran growled, and he began to chant quickly. As he chanted, vines tore out of the blighted rock of the mountain and entangled the Daemon’s legs. The Daemon ignored the vines and brought its face close to Aran’s, its teeth gleaming. It attempted to lock its jaws on Aran’s neck, and suck out his life and soul, but Aran pushed back on the jaws with both hands, keeping them at bay. It was a loosing battle, though. Kasmandre, seeing his ally’s peril, dodged behind the Daemon, and, with all his might, drove his shining sword into the Daemon’s back. The Daemon screamed and howled in pain, forgetting Aran entirely and flinging its arms around. The tip of the blade could be seen poking out of its chest, darkness swirling out around it. Kasmandre, evading the talons of the Daemon, left his sword in its back. The injured beast grasped both hand on the hilt of Kasmandre’s blade, and instantly its screams reached a new caliber. Smoke began pouring out from where it grasped the sword as the thick hide of its palms began to smolder. Kasmandre, realizing why this happened, quickly blessed the vines entangling the Daemon’s legs. Almost immediately, smoke began to pour off if there, as well. The Daemon, its agony overriding all other thought, began to tear at the vines that were now boiling its undead flesh. Then, two other blades were poking out of its chest. Jor’ann stood behind the Daemon, his armour and face covered with dirt from his second climb up. He pulled Kasmandre’s sword out of the creature’s back and tossed it to Kasmandre. From above them all, a loud shouting of some heathenistic language began to reach its peak. “I can finish ugly here off; you two go up to the top and stop him,” Jor’ann, shouted removing his own swords from the Daemon, which had just finished freeing its legs. The two faced off, one tired and dirty, the other burnt and crippled. Kasmandre and Aran took up their weapons and ran up to the peak. Upon reaching it, they had to dodge blasts of pure energy from Tramaleon and the Darkened Man’s battle in the sky high above. At the center of the peak was a massive lake of lava and fire. In its center, was a massive construct of purest darkness, still seething and growing, the Dark Gate, connected to the side of the lake by a rickety wooden bridge. In front of the lake and Gate, chanting in a voice disproportionate in volume to even his massive body, stood Harmon Eldarod. Chapter XXVI: Open Sesame “We have to stop him!” Kasmandre shouted, rushing toward Harmon. He was stopped, though, as a wall of fire flared up before him, throwing him backwards. Aran was blown away by a similar blast. Looking closer, Kasmandre saw the subtle weavings of Eradication magic, interspersed with Nether, forming a powerful ward. “Ladies and gentlemen, the world’s first fully-able, Eradication and Nether mage. Ain’t he great,” Kasmandre groaned, picking himself off the ground. “Quit wising off, that’s Jor’ann’s job. You’re our idea guy, so make with the ideas,” Aran grumbled. “Well, the ward exists above ground, what about under?” “Way ahead of you.” Aran smiled as he chanted a slow hymn, opening a tunnel in the ground before him, leading under the ward, to right next to Harmon. Aran and Kasmandre charged through the hole, hoping that their idea worked. It did, they emerged at the other side just in time to hear Harmon’s voice reach a peak, “Garathine Ine’inpleldenstine Preth!!!” He then turned and stretched out a hand, and a rush of fire met Aran, throwing him back a hundred feet, where he lay, unmoving. “You’re too late, fool! The Gate is open!! And now I’ll send you to Hell, interference!!!” And indeed, the Gate was now a high arch with a vast dark space within. Kasmandre raised his blade level between Harmon’s eyes and his own. “I’ve been to Hell, I don’t intend to return, except to burn it down!” And Kasmandre launched himself against Harmon. Chapter XXVII: Fire and Light And Kasmandre and Harmon met on the peak of the Blighted Mount in the center of Kimreddeth, sparks flashing as their blades, one a slender thing of purest light the other a massive blade of darkest steel, clashed against one another again and again. The battle continued on for several minutes like this, no word passing between the two warriors. No word was necessary at this point, each understood the other as well as they needed to, and the swordplay was all-consuming: Harmon was an expert swordsman and Kasmandre was drawing on every drop of energy from the Pulse. And the two seemed to be very evenly matched, neither gaining the upper hand. And yet, Kasmandre could see that it would not always be so. With the Dark Gate opened, Nether energy was flowing freely across the both of them, strengthening Harmon, and draining strength from Kasmandre’s muscles. He would only survive this encounter by some drastic move. And a second later, Kasmandre saw his opening. As Harmon dodged a slash of Kasmandre’s blade, he tripped over a rock jutting out of the ground. Kasmandre took the opportunity, dropping his sword and letting the magic that held the sword blade in place fall. He then gathered all his strength, and all of the Pulse that he could handle, until the pleasure of its power became a pain, and unleashed it all in a stream of white fire at Harmon, striking him in the chest and face. Harmon lay there, unmoving, and Kasmandre believed that the battle was won. But then, Harmon drew a shaky breath and stood, wavering. He raised his sword and took a step toward Kasmandre. “You think you can defeat me so easily?” Harmon rasped, his face a bloody mess of blisters and gore, “I cannot be defeated. I was given great power by the Dark Lord, through his servant. And I grow more powerful still. One day, I will rise up and take the Throne of Darkness from Satan. I am the only one worthy to sit at the right hand of the Dark Lord. I am the most powerful mage in three thousand years!” “The most powerful mage in three thousand years?” Kasmandre said, picking his blade, now reverted back to the ivory blade of Cassandra’s dagger, “Do you realize why that’s only ‘in three thousand years’ and not ‘most powerful ever?’” Harmon said nothing, he just glared and raised his blade to strike Kasmandre down. Kasmandre smiled coolly, “No answer? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because I’ve been dead for three thousand years.” And he punctuated this statement by driving Cassandra’s dagger into Harmon’s chest. The dagger cleaved aside the black steel mail easily, and drove deep into the flesh beneath. Harmon dropped his sword, staring at the dagger with a look of disbelief, “But he said…” And then he fell into the dirt still whispering and muttering to himself, in his death throes. And as he lay there, a flight of all sorts of flying insects alighted on his body and began burrowing into the wounds on Harmon’s chest and face. “See you in Hell,” Kasmandre quipped, turning away from his defeated foe. He then stepped forward toward the Dark Gate and his destiny. Chapter XXVIII: Into the Darkness As Kasmandre took his first step toward the Dark Gate, there was a great noise in the air above him, and a light, like a shooting star, fell to the earth beside him. It was Tramaleon. The Light Power was battered and beaten and the blazing reds and whites swirling on his robe were fading and becoming less distinct. Kasmandre knelt down beside his fallen comrade. Tramaleon reached out a hand, trying to push Kasmandre back to his feet, but he was too weak. “You must go,” Tramaleon whispered, “Whether I live or die now is unimportant. All that matters is destroying the Nexus. If you fail in that, we will all perish.” “But…” Kasmandre began, but he was interrupted by the sound of a great weight landing. He looked up to see the Darkened Man alight on the island, before the Dark Gate. He turned around and, with a wave of a pale hand, sent black fire rushing across the wooden bridge that spanned the lake of fire, destroying it utterly. He then disappeared through the Gate. Kasmandre stood up and surveyed the damage, and his situation. There was no way for him to cross the lake of lava. Not really having any plan, he took the Holy Grail from his belt and held it in his hand, hoping for inspiration. Then he realized that he could feel energy, magic of all kinds, buried within the Grail. Magic gathered from Archmagi over the millennia, as well as magic gathered before Lucifer gave his damning gift. Elemental magic among it. Kasmandre drew on the magic, attempted to pull out some of the earth magic inside. A small amount came, then a larger amount, then a flood. Kasmandre struggled to control the flood of energy, drawing earth across the precipice, creating a land bridge. Stoppering off the flow with a considerable effort, Kasmandre ran across the bridge, Grail in one hand, dagger in the other. Hesitating for just an instant before the Gate, Kasmandre plunged through into the darkness beyond. Chapter XXIX: For Life, For Love As Kasmandre stepped through the Dark Gate, his senses were instantly assaulted by a barrage of sensations, all evil and reminiscent of death and decay. The entire Nexus seemed to be composed of hate and rot. All around him was a huge cavern, the black walls pulsing and moving, as if unspeakable insects crawled beneath. The sound of screams and cries for mercy echoed in his ears and the air around him felt stale and stank of rotted bodies and piles of feces of unspeakable creatures. And yet it called to a part of him. Deep down inside Kasmandre, there still existed the Wretched One, the horrible creature who had murdered his on true love and then brought pain and torture down on countless generations of innocent people. And it felt like it had just come home. Fighting his own darker nature, Kasmandre stepped deeper into the Nexus, walking carefully and wary of everything around him. Walking along the walls, he noticed strange windows set deep in the black mess. Looking into the nearest one, he saw a shaded and foggy view of a beautiful plain, a family of deer walking peacefully and unafraid. He stepped to the next and saw a great city, with people walking around, milling about like so many ants. And then he understood what he was looking at. In each of the windows was an image of a world that the Darkened Man and his evil master would have access to if they were allowed to succeed. Although the deer and city-folk were blissfully unaware, their lives, and possibly their very souls, lay in his hands. Steeling himself against thoughts of failure, Kasmandre searched along the walls for a way out of the cavern. At the end opposite the Dark Gate was the entrance to a narrow tunnel. At the far end of the tunnel, a dark, malevolent light shone. Kasmandre walked through, putting the Grail in his belt behind him and holding his dagger at the ready. When he emerged on the other side, he found what he was looking for, the epicenter of the Dark Nexus. It was a great crystal, glowing with unimaginable evil energy. Standing before it, with his back to Kasmandre, was the Darkened Man. He was chanting in some language that sounded more like the snarling of some great beast than actual words. His chanting was getting louder and faster and fiercer as he reached his climax and the unleashing of power on Diventeth. Power that would destroy anything good and right. Stepping into the dim and flickering light, Kasmandre said to the Darkened Man in a snarl, "You destroyed the one person I will ever love. And now, you choose to destroy the world where I was born, the world I love? This is too much; this is too far. You will be stopped now." The Darkened Man, showing little surprise at Kasmandre's entrance, replied coolly, "I will be stopped? By whom? Surely not you. You remember the last few times we fought. I came out the victor each time." "Yes, but that was when I was at the behest of the same power that rules you. Now a serve a different power, and a higher." "A higher power? Do you know nothing of the being you serve? Aeternal Light is nothing but a memory for all it matters. He stays up in his ivory Tower, looking down at us all, neither lifting a finger to help nor hinder anyone. Not you, not I, move him enough to act. But if you insist in continuing in this foolishness, draw the power of your new beliefs. See if it will aid you." Kasmandre reached for the power, reaching through the calm, through the Rose, for the Pulse. But nothing was there. There was a void, a nothingness, where the Pulse usually ran. Shocked, Kasmandre reached for it again, and again, with no better result. "What, no fire from heaven to aid you?" the Darkened Man chuckled, "No legions of Angels and Dominions to fly to your aid? I would have thought that you would realize that the Light doesn't penetrate this darkness. Not even the cold gaze of Aeternal Light will comfort you as you die." At the last of his words, Kasmandre's throat closed shut, as if he was being strangled by a beast with iron hands. He slowly lifted off the ground, tearing at his throat with one hand and slashing vainly at his aggressor with the dagger he held in the other. The world around him began to go dark, and it seemed that all existence had been reduced to the sound of the Darkened Man's insane laughter. And then the pressure ceased and Kasmandre fell to the ground, gasping in the stale air. He looked up and saw what broke the Darkened Man's concentration. Harmon's blade was buried, hilt deep in his breast. Kasmandre looked to the other end of the room and saw Aran, burnt and bruised, standing at the tunnel entrance from where he had thrown the blade. "Just thought you'd like that back, seeing as your lapdog is dead," he said, grinning, "Now let's see if you fare better against the two of us than he did." Aran raised his spear and stood ready. "I won't have to," the Darkened Man replied, and with a flick of his wrist, Aran went flying across the room, coming to rest before one of the strange windows. Then he removed the sword from his chest and heaved it back toward the entrance. "And now..." he continued, grabbing Kasmandre from where he was now standing shakily, and heaving him against the epicenter, crushing the hand that held Cassandra’s dagger in one of his own. Kasmandre could feel the massive amount of energy flowing behind him. And something was digging into his back. And it was heating up. “What did you expect to accomplish, running in here like that?” the Darkened Man was ranting, “You can’t destroy the Gate once it has been opened, and to attempt to defeat me is pure folly. Are you just really that stupid, Wretched One?” Kasmandre suddenly remembered what was digging into his back, the Holy Grail! And it was lying right against the epicenter of the Nexus. Then he realized why it was gaining heat, it was absorbing the energy flowing through the crystal. And this flow was far more than anything channeled by a mere Archmage or elementist, this was the personal power source of a creature just a hair less powerful than a god. No matter to what extremes the Grail could absorb power, it would reach its limit before to long. And then… And then the Nexus would be destroyed, and the danger would pass, Kasmandre said to himself, anything else is unimportant. But the Darkened Man could not be allowed to discover the Grail, Kasmandre would have to distract him. “Don’t call me Wretched One, you bloated sack of rotting goo.” “Ah, so he still has a little fight in him, let’s see you fight this.” And pain wracked all the way down the arm that the Darkened Man held. It felt as if his arm was being torn to shreds, but Kasmandre gritted his teeth and refused to scream. Seeing Kasmandre’s resolve, the Darkened Man redoubled the power forcing its way down the arm. The pain now wracked through all of Kasmandre’s body, but he still refused to reward the Darkened Man with a scream. Instead, he smiled. He smiled because the power was going through his body and adding itself to the cache already gathering in the Grail. The Darkened Man was enraged beyond all belief at this show of impudence, and increased the power to the point where, scream or no, the sheer volume of energy traveling through Kasmandre’s body would soon kill him. Kasmandre’s sight exploded into colors at this new level of pain, but the smile only widened: the Grail was beginning to vibrate. A high pitched whine met Kasmandre’s ears and he felt his muscles tearing themselves apart. In his shattering mind, Kasmandre bid a fond adieu to the world he had known. Out of his cracked lips came a whisper, "Cassandra, I love you." Then, the whine was pierced by a huge explosion, and Kasmandre’s vision cleared just long enough to see one of the windows speed towards him and shatter. And then everything went black. Epilogue: On the Horizon Jor’ann dragged his body up the slope. Below him laid the still twitching form of the Daemon, finally defeated. Reaching the summit, he saw the Dark Gate in all its horrible glory. He also saw a lone figure clawing its way across the land bridge that crossed the lake of fire. Running to catch it, he caught a glimpse of it before it disappeared through the Gate, black armor, pierced and smoking, and above it, a head burnt even worse than the armor, unspeakable insects of all descriptions crawled in and out of flaps of flesh. Only a glimpse did he get before the once-mighty Harmon Eldarod disappeared into the Gate. Jor’ann followed hoping that he was not too late to offer what aid he could. But no sooner did he set foot on the land bridge, than the Dark Gate erupted in a swirling of heat and energy. Jor’ann threw himself on the ground, avoiding the brunt of the punishment, but still taking a degree of hurt from the destruction. When the wave had finished passing over his head, he heard a groaning near him. After ascertaining that he wasn’t just listening to his own hurt, he looked up to see Tramaleon trying to stand. Hurrying to his feet, Jor’ann aided the Power, who now seemed as weak as the old man he resembled. “What happened?” Jor’ann asked, “Did we win?” Tramaleon was slow to answer as he gained his own equilibrium. Still leaning on Jor’ann for support, he looked down at where the lake of fire had been just moments before. Now in its place was a massive emptiness, a blackness so complete and so lacking in color or reflection that it seemed a being unto itself. Raising his eyes to gaze into the east, where there had once existed a land known as the Valley of the Sun, where sunrise was just beginning to peek over the horizon, Tramaleon spoke, his voice grave and rasping, “Yes, we won. But we may yet lose everything.” And Jor’ann’s gaze was drawn back into the pit that seemed to have its own life, and deep down he shivered.

Just finished reading what you have so far. Really excellent. I love the lauguage and everything so far. The lack of conflict and the pacing really didn't bother me, but I can see how that may be a problem. These did seem like the first few chapters of a much longer work, so I can easily forgive a slower exposition. I did notice a few things which you might want to look at, though. First, Quain mentions that Caradoc's mother was of Corric descent, but when he goes to Rye, the Corric homeland, he seeks out his father's relatives. Maybe I read something wrong, but that's how it looked to me. Throughout, you use pennies to describe how much things cost. This seems a little strange to me, especially the ten thousand penny goal. You might consider changing at least the larger amounts into sovergns. Finally, sometime in the second post (at least I think it was the second), when Caradoc is daydreaming of breaking through Quain's retainers and getting vengence then and there, you refer to Quain as a Baron instead of a Count. I was never very good with titles, so they might be the same thing for all I know, but it stuck out to me. Overall, very good. I can't wait to read more.

Can you be taught to write, or more to the point, can someone learn to write? I think that everyone can learn to a certain point, if they truly want to and put forward the effort. Like Nobody, I like the way Stephen King put it. You can teach a fair writer to be good, you can teach a good writer to be great, but there is some innate quality to it, something within us that cannot be taught or learned (at least not in anything even approaching the conventional sense of the words). Because of that, some people who can't write at all will never really advance very far. Also because of that, no one can learn to be the next Shakespeare or Dickens. It's just something within you. As for whether love of writing is necessary...it is for you to do your best. If you're phoning something in, the readers will be able to tell. For me, writing emerged from a need to escape from a world I didn't particularly care for. I've never had many friends and I've never been very adept in social situations. So I always had a lot of time to myself. I filled a lot of this time with reading, especially sci-fi or fantasy (which are still two of my favorite genres). But I also spent a lot of time imagining my own stories, with myself as the hero of course . I always wanted to write them down, but I never really had the patience or motivation. Then I started playing Archmage. It was a sub-par online game, but the real gem was the Conservatory. When I found that, I decided to put down the backstory of my mage. I think the act that I had an audience that wanted to read the next part was what finally got me through it. Some of that audience is here at the Pen now, and I thank you all for your help. I still have a printed out copy of that story (which I've been trying vainly to rewrite for some time...perhaps I'll have to post what I have to give myself a push) and I consider it to be one of my greater accomplishments. Actually, that printout's the only copy left since the AMBB went under. Anyway, after people started leaving the AMBB, I started posting here. And now that the Conservatory is now completely plowed under and the "back-up" boards have either dropped off the face of the earth or lost my interest, this is the only place I am writing and the only place I really care to be The excellent origin story to which Kas' alludes is archived in the Library, along with many other worthwhile Conservatory threads. I'd recommend it for reading.- Peredhil

I'm a little late, but I hope you had a great birthday!

Wonderful. It proves what I've always known: "A perfect world is one without U." Great story.

Kasmandre picked himself up off the floor, observing his bleeding shoulder with a kind of dazed detatchment. He stood there, just staring at it and dripping blood onto the floor for a good minute and a half before shaking his head and turning back to Vlad. "So, Wyvern's behind this? Why would he want you to go membernapping? And why..." he trailed off, staring into space for a moment and swaying slightly. Vlad took this opportunity to remark, "Are you feeling alright, old boy? Maybe you should get that shoulder looked at." Kasmandre looked at his shoulder, a little surprised at first to see all the blood soaking into his (previously) white shirt. Then he waved a hand at it. "Eh, I've had worse," he replied, slurring the words together into a mush that sounded more like "Eh, ived worth." Then he fell forward, being saved the embarasment of falling face first into his own blood by Vlad's reflexes. "Right, you've had worse," Vlad said, now trying to figure out how to get Kasmandre some help quick enough that he could still catch animals for Wyvern. As for Kasmandre, he had one distant thought: Oh, right, the "worse" was when I was still pretty immortal. Then he passed out.

Kasmandre looked at the ensuing chaos and decided that he definately had to get involved, if for no other reason than to satisfy his curiousity. As the bagged kitten grew into a leopard, Kasmandre realized that it was really Katzaniel. Now, for all he knew, Vlad had a perfectly legitimate reason for trying to capture Katz in a flimsy paper bag, but, as a rule, Kasmandre didn't trust the undead, even generally amiable undead such as Vlad. So, he did the only possible thing: he tackled Vlad, bringing both of them to the floor in a pile of thrashing limbs.

Kasmandre was randomly wandering down the halls of the Pen when he came across Wyvern, Vlad, and Damon all whispering very conspiritorily with each other. Then Wyvern stuffed bunches of paper sacks into the other two's hands and ran off laughing greedily. Any time Wyvern was whispering conspiritorily or laughing greedily was a time to be watching out for your geld. When he's doing both, it's time to find a bomb shelter. In times like this, it would help to have a sane person involved to help keep the situation from getting out of hand. Since no one like that seemed to be around, Kasmandre decided that he'd find out what was going on. He casually walked over to where Vlad and Damon were. "Hello, Vlad, Damon. What's going on?"

Happy Birthday!!! May your road stretch ever onward and squirrels fear your tread. (And, no, I'm not sure what I mean, either. Happy Birthday anyway)

Congratulations!

very educational, BPO. Not just for the funny parts, but I also just found out that I'd been mispronouncing Rocoss's name all this time...good thing we've got this thread.

Kasmandre sees the title of the topic and bolts in, wanting to know what horror was removing the little demoness. Upon entering, however, he realizes that he is just one of many to have been had by this trickster. Chuckling a little, Kasmandre walks up to Rune and says, "Thanks for the heart attack. Let's not do something like this again for at least a week."

Congratulations to all the promotees. Every promotion received today was earned at least a dozen times over.

Okay, in the intrest of fairness, though, I used the random number function on my calculator to pick numbers for me...3, 10, and 9. This should be fun

Kasmandre rushes in from outside. "You'll never believe the hail I just saw!" Then he looks around and sees everyone looking at Zool "I guess you would..." He scoops up some hail from the floor, sticks it in a little paper cone and hands it to Ozy. "Happy Birthday! I hope you enjoy your snocone."

Hmm...this looks really interesting...I wish I'd looked into it earlier. It would seem a little unfair to be able to pick my sentences. Oh well, I can't wait to see what everyone writes.

Hmmm...I am intrigued and wish to know more...